


Sam's porny fantasy

by alley_oops, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Sam Worthington and Ryan Kwanten [202]
Category: Actor RPF, Australian Actor RPF, Citadel (Journalfen RPG), True Blood RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 08:27:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14184927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alley_oops/pseuds/alley_oops, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica
Summary: This is a re-posting (archiving) of all logs for the Sam Worthington/Ryan Kwanten storyline in the BDSM RPS RPGCitadel.





	Sam's porny fantasy

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-posting (archiving) of all logs for the Sam Worthington/Ryan Kwanten storyline in the BDSM RPS RPG [Citadel](http://citadel.dreamwidth.org/read).

**takes place while the boys are still on their honeymoon in Sonoma**

Having laid everything out just the way he wants it, Sam goes over his mental checklist twice and then in search of his lover, who he knows is in the kitchen, cooking, but he figures he should be done about now. Or soon will be. "Hey, how's it going?" he asks, sneaking up behind Ryan since there's nothing hot or sharp in sight and wrapping his arms around his waist. Brushing his lips across the nape of his neck, he rests his chin in the crook of Ryan's shoulder, waiting for an answer. 

"Hey. Good," Ryan answers, turning his head with a smile and kissing Sam's cheek. "I'm just setting the dough out to rise for tomorrow." He gives the smooth mass of dough a last couple of turns, making sure it's coated all over with a thin layer of olive oil, then covers it with a clean dishcloth. "What are you up to?"

"Keeping out of your way," Sam says with a grin. "Do you have anything else you need to do? Today, I mean."

Ryan shrugs. "Nah, not really. I mean, dinner whenever you want it."

Sam nods. He figures he can manage to throw something together for them both later. "Good. I want you to go upstairs and change into the clothes I laid out on the bed," he says. "And _then_ I want you to meet me out back by the pool."

Ryan feels his entire body stiffen when Sam's instructions reach his brain, tension instantly settling on him like a lead blanket. "Yes, Sir," he says softly, and leans down to slide the covered bowl of dough into the pre-warmed oven. He turns away without another word, climbing the stairs with his heart racing. When he reaches the master bedroom he forces himself to go straight to the open marbled ensuite bathroom to clean up, checking that he's well-prepped and that he looks as good for his Sir as he can. Then, finally, Ryan allows himself to go see what clothing Sam has left for him.

A groan spills from his lips. The thin skin-tight black t-shirt? No problem, although he might be a bit chilly out by the pool. The jeans look fairly normal, if suspiciously threadbare in the seat. It's the jockstrap that really makes his breath catch. No sturdy legit training Under Armour, this. No -- this, erm, what do you call it for men anyway? _Lingerie?_ It's red and white and kind of skimpy, although not really, considering it's Calvin Klein.

Waiting out by the pool, Sam strokes his cock to full hardness and then snaps the black leather cock ring around his balls, nice and snug, before tucking himself back into his jeans. He's wearing a white t-shirt as form-fitting as the one he put out for Ryan and he's washed his hands and forearms, checked his nails, and put out the knife and lube by the foam mats he's connected into a huge square overlooking the grounds. He lays a large beach towel out over the mats and then stands back, surveying the vineyards and grinning at the thought of what's to come.

When Ryan steps silently onto the patio, his eyes go wide at the tableau Sam has arranged. A shiver works through his body from his bare feet all the way up as all the pieces mentally slide into place. _Oh. God._ Quickly he kneels by the waiting towel, clasping his hands together at the small of his back and bowing his head, spine ramrod straight. "Sir," he says, his tone soft but formal.

"Boy." God. Ryan looks incredible. He always does, but like this, at Sam's feet, his posture perfect, he steals Sam's breath away. "Good boy," he murmurs, reaching out to touch Ryan's cheek for a moment. "Stand up."

"Yes, Sir." Immediately Ryan gets to his feet, but keeps his gaze downcast. He and Sam enjoy a pretty informal relationship a lot of the time; there's zero question who fills the dominant role, but at the same time Sam allows Ryan a lot of room to be playful. And that's just one of the reasons that Ryan loves Sam so much: knowing that his lover understands and appreciates him for himself the way that he does. But when Sam flips the switch the way that he has this evening, Ryan doesn't hesitate. Reflexes kick in and instincts shift into overdrive.

"Turn around."

Ryan turns, presenting his back to his sir. He shudders, and it's only partly from the cold: he saw that knife, waiting ominously.

"You'll want to stay very still for this," Sam murmurs, picking up the knife. He slides a hand inside the back of Ryan's waistband, pushing the worn denim out from his boy's skin before cutting a fairly straight line from one cheek to the other, right across the seam.

Fisting his hands at his sides, Ryan struggles to obey. But he's practically vibrating with tension, listening as Sam slices his jeans right open. _Feeling_ the chill breeze blow over his suddenly-bare skin.

Sam swallows hard, looking at the cut he's made, and makes two others, straight down from both ends of the line to just under the cheeks. He grins as the whole thing becomes a flap, his boy's ass bared beneath it except for the straps of the jockstrap. "Could leave it just like this," he murmurs, mostly teasing, then gives the material a rough tug before he makes the last cut, the whole rectangle coming away in his hand.

Ryan gasps, thinking that at least now it's crystal clear why Sam left such worn-through jeans for him to wear... He whimpers softly, trying hard as hell to hold still. Waiting on pins and needles for his Sir's next order.

"You'll notice I didn't give you a ring," Sam says softly, leaning in close, his mouth pressed to Ryan's ear. "That's because you're not getting one."

This time the whimper is loud, taking on a desperate edge already. "Sir!" Ryan begs, not that it's articulate. "Sir! I..."

"Shh. I _want_ you coming," Sam tells him, dragging his tongue along the curve of Ryan's ear. "I want you coming as many times as you can."

Ryan could melt at those words, except that he's got nothing to catch himself on. "Yes, Sir," he whispers. "Thank you." Coming as many times as he can will prove a challenge all its own, but it's definitely a far superior alternative to coming without permission; that's just one of his fucking nightmares at this point.

"It'll be my pleasure," Sam says with a grin, kissing the side of Ryan's neck one more time before stepping back. "I want you on the towel, hands and knees, facing the grounds," he orders.

Slipping to his knees, Ryan groans softly at the tight pull of the jeans against his rock-hard cock; it's a bizarre contrast of sensations with the chilled skin of his ass. He spreads his thighs even though that makes the constriction worse, because he's pretty sure he's going to need a stable foundation for whatever Sam does next. And god, the view is stunning, the moonlight spilling down like a wash of pearls onto the seemingly endless stretch of vineyard. _Ours_.

Ryan's already prepped but it's not nearly enough for what Sam has planned and with that in mind, he slops a dollop of thick lube between his boy's cheeks and starts working it into his hole with two fingers, already stretching him open as he goes.

Shutting his eyes, Ryan swallows back a moan. He'll be yelling before long; he's damn certain of that. So he thinks he should likely pace himself.

"Good boy. Look at you open up," Sam murmurs, working his fingers deeper, scissoring them again and again to widen the path, his cock aching, straining against the zipper on his jeans.

Ryan whimpers quietly, blinking his eyes back open to stare at the dream-like scenery again. He's starting to slip already, not because the feelings are so intense just yet, but because he knows where Sam is going with this and his mind is jumping ahead to prepare him. The knowledge that he doesn't have to hold a complicated position or retain any kind of self-control -- that's a balm, soothing and reassuring him that he can drift when he needs to.

"That's it, relax for me," Sam urges, slowly adding a third finger and then a fourth, Ryan's body easily accommodating that much.

"Yes, Sir," Ryan whispers again, bearing down to take Sam deeper. "I want you, Sir. Please. Your boy wants to take all of you."

"All of me, boy? You want both my hands this time?" Sam asks, tucking thumb into palm and pushing deeper, the widest part of his hand stretching Ryan open.

Ryan sucks in a breath, not at all sure that he's ready for that. Actually, terrifyingly certain that he's _not_ ready. "Yes," he whispers again, but there's barely any breath behind the word. He whimpers, struggling against the instinct to retreat. "Please."

"Good boy," Sam praises, groaning roughly as Ryan's body opens suddenly to take him in, his hand swallowed to the wrist.

Crying out, Ryan curls his fingers tightly into the towel, attempting to somehow keep himself in the moment when it feels like he might just shatter into pieces. Sam's hand feels fucking _huge_ , wrapping around his center somehow and taking him over. Already.

Sam gives Ryan a minute to adjust, moving no further. He rubs the fingers of his free hand around Ryan's hole, massaging the skin stretched so thin around his wrist. "We're not in any hurry," he tells him. "You let me know if you need a moment, if you need me to slow down..."

Ryan can only gasp for breath in response. He's not full-out crying, not quite yet, although he knows it's coming. But he's overwhelmed, caught between a pain that feels harsh even though he suspects it might be trivial. The man behind him, however... He exhales on a sigh, and his body relaxes, his mind drifting.

Feeling the clench of Ryan's body ease, Sam lets his fingers curl into a fist, moving it back and forth, slowly, gently, right back to the widest part before going in to the wrist. And a little deeper. Again and again.

His body begins to rock with the brief shallow movements of Sam's fist, and an image of a serene Ophelia crosses Ryan's mind, finally reaching a peace beyond all her madness. He could drown like this, he's certain -- drown in complete solace and trust.

The path fully eased, Sam pulls his fist completely free this time before "punching" back in, Ryan's body opening easily for him, surrendering completely. He repeats the movement over and over, deceptively gentle despite the description.

Ryan gasps softly. Sam's hand feels almost like it's caressing him now, steady rhythmic contact keeping Ryan with him, anchoring him to the only solid point in his universe.

"Good boy," Sam murmurs, in awe as always at the trust Ryan has in him, how fully his boy gives himself up to his sir. "So good for me."

A sound slurs from Ryan's lips that might be 'Sir,' and he feels himself melting down onto the towel, the mats beneath. Somehow, his cock still pulses with lust and need, but all that arousal feels like a drifting dream right now.

When every last hint of resistance is gone, Sam pulls back, warning Ryan, "Hold on for me. Just a second," while he grabs another glop of lube and spreads it over his other hand, keeping the first inside Ryan as much as he can.

Hold on? Sure, no problem. Ryan would wait for Sam forever, and at this moment it feels like he actually could, in the strange suspended haze he's found himself in. He's thoroughly pinned, true, but the pain signals of earlier have receded like the tides and he's content to simply remain here on his knees with his sir so deep inside him.

"Okay, here we go," Sam says, his voice soft but firm. "You can do this. We'll take as much time as you need." Shifting his first hand to the side, four fingers in, thumb tucked on top, pressing the second against it, the two forming a cone as he slowly works on opening Ryan up for more.

Abruptly reality smacks Ryan back to Earth. He inhales a shocked gasp, the sudden flash of pain taking him by surprise and seeming to burn right into his spine. "Oh, god. Sir..."

"I know. It's okay. You've done this before," Sam reminds him, moving in closer, so his knees are touching Ryan's feet. Slowly working back and forth, Ryan's body opening a little more with every inward movement.

Ryan's breaths come one on top of the last now, every exhalation a tiny whimper even though he tries so hard to control himself. He _can't_ control himself, not at the same time as he struggles to relax and let his sir in, and he thinks Sam might be pushing both hands into him at once, and _oh fuck_ wasn't there some mention of a cock ring? And-- Ryan howls, the sound loud in the night and echoing off the stone walls around them, his body seized with shudders and an orgasm that leaves him reeling. Crying.

"Good boy," Sam says, the praise so deserved, his hands stilling, waiting out the ripples of release still racking Ryan's body. "So fucking good for me."

Blinking open his eyes, Ryan wants to swipe them clean of tears but he doesn't dare break his position without permission -- and he simply doesn't have the words to ask for anything, right now. So he sniffles and gasps another sob, staring out over the vineyards and the incredible lake, raising his eyes to the stunning full moon floating above. Sam's hands are still inside him, a heavy weight with a painful stretch, but as long as he doesn't move the pain remains familiar, bearable.

"Good boy," Sam murmurs, the words never enough, never even close to what he feels when he's inside his lover like this. Claiming him so completely. He pushes slightly deeper, carefully, Ryan's hole closing around both his wrists. Moving gently back and forth, the pressure against Ryan's prostate unrelenting.

Ryan cries out, hunching in on himself. It feels so good but at the same time it's just too fucking much, and there's no damn escape. He wriggles his hips and that just makes it worse - better - and he yelps again, softer this time, agony lacing his body as his cock begins filling again already.

Sam loves this. Fucking _loves_ it. Being buried inside his boy like this. Taking him over, playing him like an instrument, his to make come again and again. "So good for me," he whispers, carefully leaning down, a kiss pressed to Ryan's tailbone.

Struggling to babble out a response, Ryan gives the attempt up as lost. He simply doesn't have enough mental focus to control his mouth. So he lapses again into pure physicality, nearly animalistic in his need when he begins to slowly fuck himself on Sam's doubled hands.

Fuck. If Sam was aroused before, he's fucking on fire now. Stills his hands, his elbows braced against his stomach so Ryan can move as he needs to. "Good. That's it. Just like that. Keep going," he urges.

The pain and stretch are overwhelming, streaks of fire flashing continuously across Ryan's nerves. But the _weight_ , god, the sense that his body is no longer his own... He whimpers and moves faster, feeling like he's skating the rim of something infinite... and then he loses his grasp and falls, sobbing, anchorless, his cock spurting weakly into his jeans.

Sam winces as Ryan's body clamps down on his wrists, the muscle tight enough to almost bruise. Breathes out slowly, deeply, as he waits for the last aftershock to tremble through his lover's frame. "Good boy," he murmurs, easing out so slowly, so very careful not to hurt his boy. "That was brilliant. You were so good for me. I'm so proud of you."

For a few moments Ryan's sobs grow louder, the pain fucking unbearable. But then his lover is gone and he just pitches forward onto the mats, freezing, alone, and fucking terrified at feeling so suddenly and thoroughly empty.

"Hey, I've got you," Sam says, and he does, quickly wiping his hands off on another towel before laying down beside Ryan, a blanket pulled over them, his arms wrapped around his lover until he can get him in shape to go inside.

Ryan muffles a whimper against Sam's shoulder, immediately clinging with all four limbs and attempting desperately to meld into his sir. He presses kiss after frantic kiss to his lover's neck, tugging at the collar of his tight black t-shirt to reach more skin. And he rubs his body against Sam's, because even sore as he is, in the aftermath his single-minded focus is on his sir's pleasure, the completion of his claim over his boy.

"It's okay, you don't need to," Sam tells him, but Christ, his body has different ideas and he can't help rubbing back against Ryan even as he tries to settle his lover.

"Please," Ryan whispers, his throat so hoarse that he can barely get the word out. But at least this is a plea he doesn't have to reach far for. "Sir."

"I don't want to hurt you more," Sam says, torn, because the last thing he wants is to cause Ryan pain but fuck, he wants to be inside him.

Those words -- they have no meaning to Ryan. He just knows that something's missing, he's incomplete, a thing was left undone. "Please," he tries again, hoping his sir will understand what he can't express right now.

Fuck. There's no way Sam can deny Ryan. No way he wants to. He tears open his jeans, shoving them down over his hips and moves between his boy's thighs, rolling him onto his back, one leg hiked high over his own hip as he pushes inside him, the path slick and open.

Ryan cries out wordlessly as he's clotheslined by his own jeans again, skin-tight as they are. But it doesn't fucking matter, because now his sir's cock is inside him, owning him. He digs his nails into Sam's back through the thin material of his t-shirt and babbles his thanks, so fucking grateful to be anchored like this. Claimed.

"Fuck," Sam blurts out, thrusting hard and then harder, unable to hold back, every bit of pent up arousal coming out now, like this, in an almost brutal taking of his lover. 

There's nothing Ryan can do but take it, and goddamn it's glorious. He whimpers and clutches at his sir, every single deep thrust of Sam's cock inside him putting him back together that much.

Hips snapping, Sam drives in again and again until suddenly he tenses, teeth gritted against the onslaught of pleasure until it becomes too much and he comes with a roar, through the ring, hot and hard inside his boy.

God, that _sound_ \-- the sound of Ryan's sir taking his pleasure from him. Using him. It's one of the most beautiful sounds in Ryan's world. He sniffles, a last few tears making their way down his face. "Th--" Gasping for breath, he tries again. "Thank you, Sir. Your boy thanks you."

"You're welcome," Sam says, dropping down to drape himself over Ryan, kiss the tears from his skin. "You deserve it. You're so good for me. So fucking incredible."

Ryan gives him a hazy smile. The words are starting to hold meaning once more, but he still feels like he's floating somewhere in the general vicinity. All wrapped up in Sam, safe and warm. "Couldn't love you more if I tried."

"Me too," Sam murmurs, gazing down at Ryan, his chest and throat tight with emotion. "I hope you know that."

After a slow second or two, Ryan nods, still smiling. "Yeah," he tells his lover. "I think so."


End file.
